Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

ZAIN

The reunion with my family is difficult. Sondra and Marissa start crying the second I walk into the room. My mom won't stop hugging me, and my dad keeps patting my arm.

I should be overwhelmed by the emotion of the moment. Being here, in this room, with everyone is the final event that proves I'm free. Yet, aside from that single moment on the drive when I caught the scent of my mom's perfume, I feel nothing. It's like I'm empty inside.

I can appreciate that they're emotional, excited to see me, happy I'm home. I'm happy to be home. But there are too many people, too much noise, and I'm looking for an excuse to escape within fifteen minutes of walking into the house.

My mind wants to shut down. My body wants to retreat to somewhere quiet.

Logically, I know it's because I need to allow myself more time to transition from being in prison to being free. But I don't know how to get that across without upsetting everyone, so I take a clinical approach.

"Do you mind if I go and freshen up? It's been a long twenty-four hours." I check the time on my watch. "My attorney will be here soon. There's still a few bits of paperwork to sort out." I press a kiss to my mom's head, then another to Marissa's. "Thank you for coming. I promise we'll catch up properly later. I just … I need to?—"

Marissa's smile is gentle. "I get it. It's a lot to take in." She leans closer and kisses my cheek. "Jason would be so proud of you." Her voice is pitched low, so only I can hear her.

I pat her hand. "That means a lot." I look around the room. "If you'll excuse me?"

"Of course, darling." Mom squeezes my hand. "You're in your old bedroom."

"Thank you." I retreat out of the room, and up the stairs before anyone can stop me.

Once I'm in the bedroom, I close the door and lean back against it, letting my eyes close.

It's odd being surrounded by people who I grew up with and love, yet I feel like a stranger. Like an imposter. They're all treating me like the boy I was. They don't know who I am, what I had to do to survive. Who I've become .

My head hurts. I'm sure it's stress mixed with anxiety. I feel like I don't belong in my own skin. And when I lift a hand to rub my temple, it shakes.

Am I going to wake up in my cell? Is this all a dream? It doesn't feel real.

It wouldn't be the first time I've had a dream of freedom that felt so real when I woke up it took time to realize I was still in prison .

I'm lucky I don't live in a state that issues a death sentence, because I'm certain that would have been my fate.

As it was, I found out that convicts have their own set of morals, and when it was discovered that I'd murdered a woman, I became a target. After my third beating within two weeks of arriving, leaving me with broken ribs and a broken nose, I was moved to solitary confinement.

For six months, I had nothing to do except work out and read, so by the time I was sent back into general population, I was a very different person to the boy who went in. The next man who tried to attack me ended up in the prison medical wing with a broken arm, three broken ribs, missing teeth, and a broken jaw. I was sent back to solitary for another month.

But it sent the message that I wasn't to be messed with. It also meant I spent a lot of time alone. They didn't trust me to be able to share a cell with anyone. And I was moved to a wing where socializing with other prisoners was only done under closely guarded times, and never for long periods.

Eight years into my incarceration, a new guy was brought in and placed in my cell with me. That meeting would be the catalyst to a series of events that would change everything for me.

Once the headache eases, I push away from the door, and cross the room to where my suitcase has been left on the bed. I take my time unpacking, in the hope that everyone who doesn't live here has left by the time I go back downstairs. But there's only so long it can take to unpack one suitcase.

It is, however, long enough to spark an idea, and I have most of it worked out in my head by the time one of the maids taps on the door to tell me Peter has arrived.

He's waiting in my father's study, browsing the books on the shelf, when I walk in. There's a younger man with him; his assistant, who I've met once or twice.

"Peter. Lionel."

"MO-TV wants an exclusive first interview with you." Peter doesn't bother with pleasantries and gets straight to it. "They're not the biggest news channel, but it might be better to go with a smaller one, and let them get it syndicated to the bigger ones."

"Arrange it for the end of the week sometime."

"Any particular preference?" He moves to the desk and takes paper out of his briefcase.

"Friday. They'll have something to talk about then. Did you get what I needed?"

"I did, and I still think it's a stupid idea. What are you going to gain from it?"

"Closure."

He hands me a document. "Most of what you wanted me to add isn't really legal, so I've worded those sections a little vaguer than I like. If another lawyer sees it?—"

"Let me worry about that. What else?"

"The case has been officially reopened. The local sheriff, who wasn't in charge during the initial investigation, has asked to meet with you. I've also been in touch with your friend, who said he'll run his own investigation and let you know what he discovers. I've given him your new cell number. "

I nod. "What about?—"

"I don't know why you want to go there. I thought you were planning on going to the house you bought, but as instructed I hired people to go in and clean it up. It's stood empty for a long time. I also had the things you wanted placed in the room the way you asked."

"Good."

"You need to let the police do their work, Zain."

I snort. "We've had this conversation already. Anyway, I have a better way of getting to the truth."

"I'm not sure better is the word I'd use."

"Contact MO-TV and set up an interview. That should stop them coming here today." While I'm talking I find one of my dad's notepads, and pick up a pen. Writing a note, I fold it, and slip it into an envelope. "Lionel, can you deliver this for me?" I give him the address, while I write a name on the front. "Stick around for an answer."

He glances at Peter, who nods permission, then leaves the room.

"Are you sure about this?" Peter brings my attention back to him.

"One-hundred percent. It's part of the plan, you know that."

"It doesn't mean I have to like it. And it wasn't part of the plan until this morning."

"No one is asking you to like it. Can I borrow your car?"

"My car ?"

"I won't be long. A couple of hours at most. I want to follow Lionel and see what happens. "

He sighs, but hands over his keys. "I don't even want to know what you've sent him to do."

"Nothing illegal, don't worry. I just wanted him to deliver a message for me."